


Blood Gulch Revisited

by Ree



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 06:42:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3800683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ree/pseuds/Ree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles about Wash and Carolina adjusting to life with the Blood Gulch Crew. Usually in chronological order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Habit

"You’re still building robots," Wash observed from the side of the base. Sarge shrugged at the new visitor, the only "blue" he could tolerate on his property. "Why?"

"Well, I got all these spare parts," Sarge said easily.

"Spare parts? I think Lopez said he could have upgraded your jeep if you weren’t dead set on your…your project.” Wash wasn’t sure what made him hesitate, what made him censor the colorful and descriptive Spanish the robot had actually used. Yet Sarge seemed married to the idea that Lopez is like a son to him, so it seemed right, seemed like the right thing to do.

Better late than never.

"Caboose asked me to," Sarge expanded. "Besides, when that blue fella and his girlfriend come back, they better not try and steal my robot again."

"The Alpha isn’t coming back," Wash said firmly.

Sarge just turned with a small smile. “Son,” he said, “I’ve been trying to kill that team for nine years. Trust me. He’ll come back.”

Wash thought about trying to explain how impossible all of that is, but he knew Sarge was a man of conviction and saw it’d be a losing battle. Instead, he just said, “well, do you need any help?”


	2. Color Coding

"But Sarge, he’s a _blue_!” Grif protested, though it was only because he felt uneasy around freelancers. Even if Wash had decided to go undercover and join them, that didn’t mean he stopped being a freelancer and if there’s anything that these past years have taught him, it’s this: freelancers mean work. Freelancers are _bad_.

And Sarge was sitting here, basically inviting this guy over of afternoon tea. The had chatted a bit at first, and now Sarge and Wash were working on the Warthog. _Together_.

And Grif and Lopez were sitting on the sidelines, the robot muttering in Spanish about how it’ll take him half a day to fix all the things Sarge decides would work better if he just gave them a whack with his wrench. Grif just sat there in disbelief. “Wash, are you actually fixing the car I used to _run you over with_?”

Wash poked his head out from under the hood and said with a shrug, “eh. I got better.”

"I just don’t understand what’s happening," Grif said slowly.

Lopez offered that maybe Sarge had grown weary of constantly having his insane expectations fall short in the face of this sham of an army and likes having someone actually capable to talk to about things. Even if it meant breaking Lopez’s vehicles to do it.

"Yeah," Grif sighed in agreement. "Sarge must have finally gone off his meds. Or gone on them a bit too much. I give it five minutes before he realizes what he’s doing and points his shotgun in Wash’s face."

Fifteen minutes later, after watching Sarge talk about his plan to mount a heat seeking rocket launcher on the jeep and Wash stand there and nod (like it wasn’t the stupidest idea Grif had ever heard for what he was sure were perfectly valid science reasons that he’d later get Simmons to explain to him), noticing that Sarge actually let Wash touch his toolbox, and seeing Wash tend to the engine _unsupervised_ , he got up in a huff and left for his room with a muttered, “this is fucking bullshit.”


	3. Chicken Raising

"Put your back into it!"

Wash paused in his efforts to give Sarge one long, appropriately timed start for that comment. “Put my back into catching an escaped chicken?” he repeated, deadpan.

Sarge didn’t hesitate or pause or really seem to mind the ridiculous factor his words carried. “Maybe try to lure it back with a chicken dance.”

Wash stared again until Sarge stopped giving suggestions. It took about two minutes. “Look, first you saddle me with this chicken coop that I have no idea how you got-“

"It was a donation from the tooth fairy," Caboose interjected. "I lost my tooth one time when I fell really hard going up stairs at the base and I asked for a chicken instead of a dollar. Yep. She was probably just slow getting here because she had to bring it a house, too."

"-just because I mentioned, _mentioned_ , that I like cats. Which, for the record, does not extend to all animals.” Wash kept going through Caboose and every other interjection patiently. “We don’t do anything with the eggs because no one knows how to cook, and Caboose _and_ Sister _and_ _Grif_ have told me I’m not allowed to kill it and roast it.”

"That’d be mean. Chickie is my friend," Caboose added again.

"So now I’m taking care of a _live chicken_ , and you’re all not helping me get it out from under this tiny rock cave it ran into.”

"Hey, I suggested grenades," Tucker said with a shrug.

Wash frowned. “That’s not the point.” He crouched down to peer under the rock, hearing the chicken flap its wings excitedly at the prospect of freedom. “Or helpful.”

"Hey, man, if you wanted _helpful_ , you came to the wrong canyon.”


	4. Dibs

"Dibs!" Sarge said, cutting the silence.

"What? You can’t call dibs on a person!" Tucker protested.

"I just did, Blue."

"Her armor is blue!"

"We have paint for that," Simmons piped in.

"No, fuck this, she’s a blue, her armor’s blue, she’s on our team. Tough luck, cockbites."

"Fine by me," Grif said indifferently. He knew what another Freelancer meant: _work_.

"No, it’s our turn," Simmons said pointedly. "Besides, we need the manpower. We’re still a man down since when Wa-"

Wash loudly said "ahem," and motioned something he imagined that panicked drowning divers are used to communicating. Simmons didn't even look over at him.

“-Wash here killed Donut."

"That was technically never proven," Wash muttered in the background. "Also, way to be undercover."

Simmons paused long enough to pointedly stare at Wash and his rude interruptions until the blue-yellow ex-freelancer gave up the fight for conversation control. "Plus, Sarge called dibs.”

"What?" Carolina finally said, her fascination with the dynamics of these two teams quickly fading into annoyance. "I’m not on anybody’s team."

"Also," Simmons continued, "it’s our turn to get a freelancer. You had Tex."

"There’s no fucking turns, dipshit, she’s _blue_ ," Tucker said, his voice high on exasperation. "She’s blue, and we’re the Blue Army, I don’t make the rules, I just follow them when it’s convenient for me.”

Grif shrugged his way into the conversation with, "eh, I think she's kind of green."

"International dibs law dictates-" Sarge started, but was cut off by the new arrival.

"I’m not going to be part of blue team-" Carolina clarified.

"-HA!-" Simmons said triumphantly.

”- _or_ red team. You’re both going to be part of _my_ team.”

Silence settled upon everyone for a few blissful seconds.

"Wait. _What_?" Sister finally said. Carolina sighed as they started talking over each other again. This was going to be far too long of a mission, she could already tell.


	5. Reunion

"Wash?" Carolina said after their introductions, the sound of the newly integrated teams bickering in front of them. The sun was setting ahead of them and the armored sim troopers almost looked like their old team - bright colors, strong language, merciless teasing.

He hung back a little until he fell into step next to her, but he kept his silence.

"Well," she started, the familiar smirk in her voice. "Good to know there’s at least someone in this canyon that can fight worth a damn."

"York’s dead." He said this simply, dully. He stated the fact and in two emotionless words betrayed every bit of change he’d been through since they last saw each other. She hesitated. He heard it. Years ago in the briefing room, he could see that face, her hesitation face. Now, the sunlight was shining on her visor, the armor protecting her from the canyon air, the way her arm stiffened around her weapon barely noticeable unless you knew to look. Their steps synced up again just as quickly as they had fallen out.

"So’s everyone else, Wash."


End file.
